There’s a fascinating social experiment happening in plain sight: the same adults who enforce the rules are often the most creative at bending them. Somewhere between “Follow the directions” and “That sign doesn’t really apply to me,” adulthood takes a sharp turn.

It’s amazing how strongly we believe in rules — right up until coffee meets inconvenience.

If hypocrisy were a professional development workshop, we’d earn continuing education credit by lunch.

The greatest mystery of modern civilization isn’t space travel or artificial intelligence — it’s how fully grown adults forget how arrows, lines, and toilets work.

It usually starts the same way.

An adult stands at the front of a room—arms crossed, eyebrows raised, channeling the full authority of someone who has Googled “leadership quotes” at least twice.

“We have rules for a reason,” they declare.

And everyone nods. Because that’s what we do when someone says something that sounds like it belongs on a motivational poster next to a bald eagle.

But here’s the twist: five minutes later, that same adult is speed-walking across the parking lot, phone glued to their ear, cutting diagonally over the clearly painted NO PEDESTRIAN CROSSING lines like they’re suggestions from a fortune cookie.

Rules are important.

Just not those rules.

We tell kids to follow directions carefully.

Then we assemble IKEA furniture by “intuition.”

We tell them to read all the instructions.

We scroll past the “I agree to the terms and conditions” box like it’s on fire.

We remind them to be patient.

We honk .7 seconds after the light turns green.

We insist they clean up after themselves.

Our car interiors look like a traveling museum exhibit titled Receipts of the American Fast Food Experience.

Then the faculty restroom looks like a crime scene documentary is about to be filmed.

And let’s just address it.

Who.

Forgets.

To flush.

Who wakes up, earns degrees, holds jobs, pays taxes — and then walks away from a toilet like, “This is someone else’s journey now?”

We live by “Do as I say, not as I do.”

And then we wonder why procedures don’t feel serious to them.

Children are observant. 

Painfully observant.

They may not remember to bring their homework, but they will absolutely remember that you said, “No phones at the table,” while answering three texts and checking the weather twice during dinner.

They may forget step three of a math problem, but they will not forget that you told them to “calm down” in a voice that could summon thunderstorms.

Kids don’t learn from what we say nearly as much as they learn from what we model.

If adulthood were a group project, we’d be that one teammate who insists everyone follow the rubric… while submitting their portion in Comic Sans.

Let’s talk about lines.

We love telling kids to stand in them.

Straight lines. Quiet lines. Respect-the-personal-space lines.

Meanwhile, adults at a buffet behave like the concept of queueing was recently outlawed.

“Oops, didn’t see you there.”

Of course you didn’t. You were in tactical shrimp retrieval mode.

Or directions.

We tell kids, “Follow the directions the first time.”

But give adults a GPS instruction and watch what happens.

“Turn right.”

“I know a better way.”

You do not know a better way, Gary. That is why we are currently in a cul-de-sac named after a species of bird that may or may not be extinct.

We tell kids to be patient.

Then we sit in line at Starbucks at 7:15 a.m., gripping the steering wheel like the fate of civilization depends on the speed of our iced coffee.

“It’s taking forever.”

It’s been four minutes.

But without caffeine, time stretches. Laws bend. Morals waver.

The truth is, kids aren’t ignoring the rules.

They’re studying us.

They’re noticing that rules are apparently flexible when you’re taller and have car keys.

They’re observing that “because I said so” translates loosely to “because I didn’t think this through.”

They’re connecting the dots we pretend don’t exist.

And here’s the slightly uncomfortable part: If we want kids to follow directions, we might have to model following directions.

All of them.

The boring ones.

The inconvenient ones.

The “this sign clearly applies to me even though I’d like to believe I’m the exception” ones.

We can’t preach consistency and practice creative interpretation.

We can’t demand accountability while blaming traffic, Wi-Fi, Mercury in retrograde, and “the system.”

We can’t expect discipline if we treat rules like optional toppings.

Because kids don’t just listen.

They audit.

And they are ruthless auditors.

So maybe the real lesson isn’t “Why won’t kids follow directions?”

Maybe it’s this: If adulthood had a participation grade… would we pass?

And more importantly — would we let us lead the line?

Now… where’s my coffee?

There’s more waiting at https://xinkblotz.com. Telling stories, sharing thoughts, and drinking coffee. A blend of fiction, reflection, and whatever’s brewing – one post at a time.